


Le Reve Fantastique

by Jubalii



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Coma, Dream Adventures, Eventual Smut, F/M, Sorta Kinda UST, Subconscious, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 05:58:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8611849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jubalii/pseuds/Jubalii
Summary: After an experiment gone wrong, Seras is nearly comatose in a hospital bed. After being ordered to "snap her out of it", so to speak, Alucard is forced to delve deep into her subconscious. It's one wild ride, to be sure.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I finally got around to updating this story on fanfiction.net (2014?!?!) because it sat on the backburner for the longest time. A new chapter is available and it's slated to be finished soon, so hopefully everyone will be happy. Please enjoy and leave a review/kudos! 

"You're acting like I'm going to let them rip me open and pull out my heart." Seras half-smirked, twisting the plastic hospital band that was fastened around her wrist. "Do I dare take this as a sign that the great vampire Alucard is _concerned_ , _worried_ even?" she teased, grinning devilishly.

"I am not worried," Alucard replied coldly, glaring at her. "I am concerned, though; I'm convinced that you've had every last bit of sense knocked out of you at some point. This is an experimental drug, and you volunteered to let them test it on you. You are no laboratory rat."

"I know that," she replied impatiently, her lightheartedness dissipating. "I also know that vampires do have need for anesthesia at times, just like everyone else. I know that regular drugs don't work with our bodies, since they're made for _human_ consumption. That's why I'm volunteering to let them test this on me. If they succeed, vampires could have access to anesthesia too."

"And if they fail, where will you be?" he growled. She looked away, sighing.

"I'd rather not think about that, alright?" Callous silence greeted her and she flopped back against the pillows after a moment, scowling at the television. "I don't see why you can't trust my judgment. Sir Integra thinks it's a fine idea."

"She does not. She's been nothing but fretful all afternoon. Why do you think she refuses to come into this room?" He gestured at the hospital room, with its bland atmosphere and ugly curtains. Seras didn't answer, and crossed her arms sullenly.

"If you're gonna be like that, then you should just leave," she muttered. He made a motion to rise from the plush armchair he'd been curled up in all afternoon and she uncrossed her arms, looking at him pleadingly. "Don't go. Stay," she said quickly. "Are you really going to leave me here all by myself?"

"I don't see why not," he retorted, but settled back into the chair, staring blankly at the news program on the telly. Seras hid a smile, turning her attention to a story about a kitten being saved by a resourceful man with a plastic umbrella. _You can't fool me_ , she thought triumphantly, reveling in the fact that he couldn't hear her thoughts like he used to when they were bonded as master and servant.

It had been nearly two decades since she'd been freed, and they fought side by side as comrades in arms rather than a vampire and his Childe. But even if she didn't belong to him anymore (per say) he still kept a rather oppressively protective stance over her. It wasn't that she disliked the fact; no, she felt almost… flattered, really. He didn't behave like that around just _anyone_ , which made her special—sort of.

She just wished he wasn't so damn possessive about it. After all, a strange man couldn't even look her direction without being glared at, and woe to him if he actually tried to _talk_ to her. Alucard seemed to treat everyone around them like a potential enemy; in theory that was a good way to be, but in practice it made for few friendships and lots of confused (and nearly dead) humans. She had far too many close calls between her former master and unsuspecting, all-too-forward gentlemen on the street.

But that just proved that he _did_ care about her, however he acted. He was still as antisocial and ill-disposed as he ever was, and she didn't escape his scathing comments any more often than others did. But then again, she had never imagined him to be the sort of man that you read about in cheap paperback romance novels. Those dashing, mysterious rogues who were magically transformed by the great power of Love into fawning, lovey-dovey types who still somehow managed to be roguish everywhere except the bedroom; that was fantasy, and it was a miracle that didn't happen in the real world.

She looked at him, still staring at the screen as the news showed the story of a derailed train in Warsaw that left thousands dead and many more wounded. She couldn't imagine him fawning over _anyone_ , much less her. He didn't fawn; it just wasn't a word you used in the same sentence as "Alucard", just like you wouldn't use words like tender, or sweet, or gentle.

She found she didn't mind all that much. She knew him much better than that; the words she used to describe him were bigger, bolder terms that outlasted simple things like sweetness or gentleness. Others would say things like cruel, evil, or maybe pitiless. But she didn't think that way. To her, Alucard was prevailing, courageous, powerful, and vehement; he wasn't someone you could nail down with just one syllable.

He turned slightly in his chair, and she colored as he caught her staring at him. She grinned as cheerily as she could muster, feeling embarrassed. She didn't know why, exactly, but she knew that she didn't want him to know she'd been thinking about him. It wasn't like he would really care; but all the same, she'd rather him be in the dark about it.

"Promise me something," she said, breaking the silence between them. He frowned. "It would make me feel more confident," she added, trying to bend him to her will. He snarled his nose.

"If you want to feel more confident, give up this foolish test-run," he remarked. She tried to keep from pouting, and failed. He watched her before sighing and turning away, pointedly ignoring her.

"Just promise!" she kept on. "It's not anything very hard."

"If it will make you shut up," he hissed, trying to hear about a possible radiation leak at the sight of the train wreck. She perked up slightly, leaning forward on the thin bed and crossing her legs beneath the warmed sheet. Her back felt a draft from the open-backed hospital gown and she tucked the edges of the blanket around her hips in an attempt to keep the warmth in.

"Promise me that you'll stay here and be next to me when I wake up." He didn't bat an eye.

"Yes," he agreed absently, his focus still clearly on the television and not her. She wondered if he even heard her words, or was just saying it to keep her quiet while he listened to the grim-faced anchor at the news desk.

"Alucard," she growled warningly. "Give me your word." He turned to glower at her, his face an impatient mask of exasperation.

"I give you my word," he swore dryly, eyes cold over the rims of his glasses. She couldn't help but feel a little hurt; here she was about to go into surgery and he was more enthralled in a news program he could just as easily follow while she was in the operating room.

Before she could comment on his behavior—which was stemming from the fact she wasn't listening to him and giving up the whole thing, she was sure—the operating room nurse came in, clad in off-green scrubs, a blue shower-cap/sanitary hairnet, and a surgical mask tucked beneath her chin. She beamed a ruby-lipped smile at Seras, her hand automatically going to the chart dangling off the foot of the bed.

"Okay sweetie," she said, looking at the chart, "Can you tell me your name and birthday?" Seras rattled off the information without really thinking as she settled against the pillows again in preparation for being pushed back to the operating room. Alucard _finally_ turned away from the television to watch the woman with his normal possessive/protective/mildly curious expression, although most of it Seras took for granted since he was hiding behind his glasses and that ridiculous hat.

"Alrighty then!" the nurse said cheerfully, putting down the chart and grabbing Seras' arm. She checked the plastic ID bracelet and nodded to herself. She smiled kindly down at Seras and patted her hand with her gloved one in that strangely comforting way middle-aged women were able to pull off. Seras wondered if the nurse had kids at home; usually, they brought that motherly aspect to work with them. "Let's get you to the room and set up, okay?"

"Okay," Seras nodded, looking around the woman's wide hips to where Alucard still sat in the chair. She frowned meaningfully at him. "You gave your word," she reminded him, her eyes sincere and expectant. He nodded gravely and she relaxed against the pillows as the woman raised the bedrails and hit the brake release with her foot, setting the bed in motion.

Seras looked around as she was wheeled down the bright hallway, past countless closed doors where other, _human_ patients waited procedures. The hallway was filled with the sounds of the infirmary—beeping monitors, ringing phones, and crisp, static-filled intercom noise as nurses paged doctors and staff to different areas of the floor. She smiled as personell as they passed, dressed in different colors depending on their job. Most of them smiled back, nodding to her as they stopped to let her bed go by, or dodged around her in more of a hurry.

The nurse paused to slide her ID card on the wall apparatus. It beeped, the light turning green, and the double doors ahead slid open automatically, closing behind them as they ran through just in the nick of time. It was quieter back here, and the nurse wheeled her into one of the rooms after only turning once. It was lit with intense light that hurt Seras' eyes. The nurse pulled her mask up onto her face and wheeled the bed beside the operating table.

"Okay," she said, her voice slightly muffled. "I'm going to lower the bed rail, and I want you to scoot over onto the operating table for me. I'll give you a hand," she added, and helped to push Seras onto the tiny table, catching her when the vampiress about slid off the other side. "Hold still, and I'll get you a fresh, warm blanket," she ordered, and Seras obediently lay quietly on the table.

"Hello, hello!" a male voice said, and a cheery man dressed the same way as the nurse leaned over her head as the nurse shook open a blanket and let it billow over Seras' bare legs. The man had bifocals and Seras could see wrinkles around his eyes and gray sideburns beneath his blue surgical cap. His green eyes twinkled at her over his mask and she smiled back, again surprised at how the sight comforted her. "Miss Victoria, I presume?" She nodded bashfully.

"I'm Dr. Rayburn, the anesthesiologist. I'm one of the main guys working on you today, as you can guess." Seras nodded again, and the nurse handed him the chart from Seras' bed. He glanced at it and hummed thoughtfully. "Alright, everything seems to be in order," he said to the nurse in a more professional tone, before looking down at her once more.

"Dr. Holland will be here in just a second, and then we'll begin the procedure. Did they talk to you at Admissions, about how long it might take?" Seras shook her head.

"No, they were really busy down there," she said hesitantly. Dr. Rayburn nodded knowingly.

"Well, you're going to be under for an hour, and then we'll see how long it takes you to come back to us. It'll be the best sleep of your life," he winked. "Or, rather, your unlife, I suppose." Seras laughed nervously.

These doctors were well-trained professionals who worked with Hellsing branches in the U.S.A. They'd seen Ghoul bites and puncture wounds and military injuries galore, but Sir Integra had told her on the flight to Atlanta that this was the first time they would be working with an undead subject.

The anesthesiologist caught her anxious expression and petted her head gently, like a man would his daughter. "Don't you worry about a thing. We're going to take good care of you," he assured her. Seras smiled gratefully as the main surgeon came in. He was much younger and had deep brown eyes that reminded her of hot chocolate.

"Hello there, Seras," he said comfortably. "I'm Dr. Holland. I'll be the one doing the poking and prodding in this procedure," he said, and she could tell behind his mask that he was grinning at her. "Are you ready to get started? Have any last questions?"

"I'm ready," Seras replied, smiling at him with what she hoped was a confident expression. Now that the operation was about to begin, she couldn't help but feel very nervous. Alucard had been right, even if she hadn't listened to him. This was an experimental drug, and there was a possibility, however low, that something could go wrong. She licked her lips as they began to swarm around her, calling out numbers and milliliters of this and that to each other. Dr. Rayburn leaned over her and this time, his eyes were both solemn and reassuring.

"We _will_ take good care of you. Now, I want you to relax, and count back from ten for me."

"Ten, nine, eight…."

* * *

_Alucard….Alucard!_

Alucard's head jerked up from where it rested against his shoulder. He immediately went into "high-alert" mode, the stench of disinfectant and thrum of thousands of heartbeats telling him that he wasn't in his room. He remembered where he was and relaxed slightly, looking up to see his master standing before him.

"Alucard," she said again, and he heard her heart beating quicker than normally. He looked into her one good eye and realized something was wrong. Her face was tired, wrinkles more prominent than usual and her expression was both lost and afraid. "Seras…" she started, and then blinked rapidly, turning away. "Come with me."

There was no need for her to make it an order. The minute his former servant's name passed her lips, he was on his feet. His mind was split; part of him railed against Seras, and the other against himself. _Why_ did he not stop her from going? He could have talked to Integra. He could have made it so that someone else had to be the guinea pig for these American doctors. Now, what? He ran the possibilities through his mind.

If she were dead…. He didn't want to go there. Part of him already declared it a certainty, despite his fierce mantra that she _was not_ dead; for if she was, wouldn't Integra be much more distraught? But, still…. _God has taken everything from you before. Why not this little woman, too?_ He didn't want to think about it. He _didn't_ want to think about it. But he couldn't help himself.

He followed no less than two paces behind her, through endlessly winding halls. People stared at him as he went by, and elderly and children alike shrank away from the deadly aura he gave off. Now, he thought only of the doctors. If their negligence caused Seras to be harmed, he'd kill them all. He'd rip them to shreds. No, he'd keep them alive and string them from the rooftop of the hospital from spikes, their entrails looping stickily around the splintery wooden posts like maypole ribbons. He'd paint the hallways in their blood.

"Alucard," Integra murmured threateningly, catching his bubbling fury. He stopped and she turned to look at him for a long moment. "Behave," she ordered, and he nodded in barely-restrained rage. She watched him before turning back and motioning for him to follow her inside a room.

He saw an elderly doctor at the head of the bed, and a youthful one at the foot. The tiny room could barely hold them and the bed at the same time. Seras was on the bed, a blanket covering her from the waist down, and the short sleeved blue gown still on her body. She lay quietly, giving no sign that she was alive. She wasn't hooked up to any monitors except for a machine connected to two circular pads on each of her temples. The machine beeped, jagged blue and red lines arching in rhythm across the black screen.

"Hello," the elderly doctor greeted them, coming around the bed to shake Integra's hand. He offered it to Alucard, but after being glared at he dropped it and cleared his throat. "Well, she's still alive…sort of." He scratched beneath the surgeon's cap.

"What's wrong? Why's she not waking up?" Integra asked hurriedly, moving to the prone woman's side. She took a limp hand in both of hers, staring at Seras as if the sheer willpower she held in her gaze would make the Draculina rise. The elderly doctor sighed.

"We're not sure," he said honestly. "Everything was a resounding success, until this point. Her brainwaves indicate that she's still at home, so to speak, but we can't pull her out of it. Of course, humans also have this problem with anesthesia sometimes. But it's a very small percentage of the population."

"What can we do?" Integra asked, looking at both doctors. "Is there any medicine we can give her? Something to wake her up?" The younger doctor shook his head.

"I don't know," he growled, crossing his arms and shaking his head. "In other cases, I move forward based on what I know. But this is the first case of this kind; there's nothing else to go on!" he exclaimed. "It's all guesswork from here, but any further moves might damage her more than help." He looked askance at Alucard and backed a step closer to the bed. "I think you'll both agree that we want only what's in Seras' best interest."

"Pardon me for asking, but is there some sort of…"the elderly doctor paused, staring pensively at Alucard. "Is there some sort of vampire thing you might could do to bring her back to consciousness? Reverse hypnotizing, or something like that?"

"You watch too many movies, human," Alucard spat. "I can see into her mind, but only if she is awake." Sir Integra interrupted him.

"But she is nearly awake, mentally," she said slowly. "Only unconscious. I'm afraid I'm a bit blurry on how consciousness and unconsciousness work, but if she's in a comatose state right now, does that mean he can still see into her mind, provided her mind is doing something at the moment?" Both doctors looked puzzled and shrugged one after the other.

"I'm afraid I don't really know how that works either. No one does," the elderly man said. "It's a fascinating science, but we've only really brushed the surface of what consciousness is. But, as they say, it doesn't hurt to try."

"Alucard?" Sir Integra was looking at him hopefully, and it led to a sinking sensation in his gut. He frowned, but something inside him urged him to try like the doctor said. If it brought back Seras, he wouldn't get to kill the doctors, but he'd have his Police Girl awake again. And if she were awake, he could tell her how he was right, and force her to promise never to do something so utterly foolish again.

"Leave us," he said firmly, and the doctors looked at Integra for confirmation before filing out of the room. Integra turned back to Alucard before she left and watched him.

"Alucard, you bring her back. That's an order," she said quietly, and then the door shut with a soft click.

"As you command, my master," he said to the door, before going over to the bed. Watching the monitor beep, he shifted his glance to the still form beneath the sheets. Her blonde hair lay spread across the pillow, and there were no masks or wires crisscrossing her body, as there was no need for them to measure a heart rate that didn't exist. She looked peaceful and at rest, her pale skin shining against the stark white of the bed sheets.

"So," he said to her still form, wondering if she could hear him. "You finally look like that princess you talk about every once in a while. Sleeping Beauty…." He sneered, wishing she were awake. He could see her in his mind's eye, her face flushing deep red before she stomped her foot and tried her best to tear him down for the insult, even though they both had heard the compliment beneath the scathing words.

He sat at the side of the bed, taking off his hat and glasses, and closing his eyes. He concentrated hard, his mind falling in tune with the repetitive beep-beep-beep of the brainwave monitor, and he pressed his forehead to hers with a determined grimace. He felt the familiar sensation of falling out of his own body; his mind mingling with something that wasn't like her normal mind, nor was it like the mind of someone sleeping.

He felt a twinge of uncertainty; he wasn't sure if this would work or not. But before he could decide whether or not to press forward, it was too late. He felt a lurch and before he knew it, all was darkness.

* * *

He stood before a stately mansion, which really resembled a castle. There were spires and turrets and the entire thing was decked out in purple trim, standing against the white marble that made the outer walls. Hedgerows lined the cobblestone path and the ornate door beckoned him to knock with its lion's-head knockers, each the size of his own head and so well-carved that each hair on the mane seemed separate from the next.

He decided to forego knocking and barged into the manor. He was met with a golden and cream spectacle which resembled a Baroque nightmare. Not that it was bad—no, it just didn't suit his tastes at all. He was astonished that Seras would even dream of it; it didn't seem to suit her either.

Large, thin European-style windows were curtainless, each pane pristine enough that the glass was almost invisible. The main foyer was almost like the one in Hellsing manor, with the black-and-white checkerboard pattern of marble on the floor, spreading out before him to the gleaming white double staircase. Large arches framed the second floor, gilded in golden trim and broken only by the polished banister that formed a balcony of sorts.

Behind the arches, solid gold chandeliers hung in a row, their behemoth frames nestled in the vaulted ceilings and casting a mixed glow of flame and electrical light. Along the stairs, gas lights set in golden frames with delicate, pear-shaped glass coverings were placed at regular intervals. Alucard could see large doors just beyond the reach of the second story, their half-circle precipices a stained-glass marvel of doves and lilies against a golden background.

Alucard paused, turning a slow circle. It was more vivid than he ever remembered a dream being, and the sheer enormity of the foyer alone was almost overwhelming. All of this came from one woman's imagination? It was astounding! He had to give the Police Girl credit; she had created a large mansion fit for a queen. But it was a queen of the day's abode, not a No-Life Queen's. Did she still hang onto enough of her humanity that her mind was preoccupied with doves and the infantile wonder of castles and golden chandeliers?

"Excuse me!" Alucard spun on his heel as an all-too familiar voice accosted his ears. Standing at the head of the left-hand stairs, glaring down at him, was a sight right out of his past. It was Walter, but not the Walter that Seras could have remembered from her days at Hellsing.

This Walter wore all black leather; from his shoes to the fingerless gloves on his hands, the polished garments held their own sinister sparkle. His hair was devoid of gray and tied behind his head as neatly as it had always been with a plain black tie, not a single strand out of place. The monocle was there too, and the indigo eyes staring out at him were as familiar as it was. The long, thin face was smooth and wrinkleless, the mouth turned down in a frown as its owner looked down at the vampire mucking up his front hall.

"And just _who_ are _you_ , to be coming in here without so much as a knock?" Walter asked, descending the stairs rapidly and striding across the checkerboard tile to stand in front of Alucard. His frown became more pronounced as he looked Alucard over, eyes lingering on the unkempt hair and elaborate clothing.

"I'm here for Seras. What are _you_ doing here?" he replied with the same offhand manner he'd given the real-life Walter when he was alive. Walter sniffed haughtily, looking down his nose at the vampire king.

"I serve her Ladyship, and keep an eye on things when her mama and papa are away," he answered curtly. "Now, I will ask you to leave. Follow me to the door." He made to walk past Alucard and stopped only when shadows arched from the ground to impede his passage. He tsked and looked at the other man, lips pursing into a thin line. "Sir, do _not_ make me use force," he stated, fingers wiggling impatiently. Alucard heard the _zing_ of wires arcing in the air and grinned despite himself.

"Not without the Police Girl, I'm afraid." Walter paused, one brow arching as he stared full-force at Alucard.

"There is no policewoman here," he proclaimed after a moment of studious silence. "There is only her Ladyship and her playmate." A door closed somewhere in the distance and the retainer's focus was taken off of Alucard as he looked around. Alucard looked as well as he heard the quick padding of feet and what sounded like both human and animal footfalls.

When the girl turned the corner, Alucard felt his eyes widen considerably. His surprise as seeing Walter was nothing compared to his bewilderment at seeing the young maiden now descending the staircase.

It was Integra, but the Integra he remembered from his first awakening in the murky dampness of Hellsing's dungeons. This young Integra was just as prim and proper as her real life counterpart was, coming down the stairs in a stately manner, one hand lightly holding onto the rail. She wore a crisp white blouse and a long green skirt that _swooshed_ around her ankles as she stepped. A matching green ribbon was hanging from around her collar, the ends dangling and moving left to right as she walked.

She had a long leash wrapped several times around her other hand, and at the other end of the leash was a massive dog. Its ebony fur glistened in the light of the gas lamps as it heeled obediently at her side. The dog was holding a tiny kitten by its scruff, the kitten just as obediently dangling with its feet limp in the air. Atop the canine's head, a rabbit was perched demurely, nose and ears twitching.

"Walter, I'm going home now," the girl announced as she neared the men. She paused for a moment as the butler bowed deeply. "Father will be waiting at home for tea, and I simply _cannot_ be out past dark."

"Yes, Miss Hellsing," the butler conceded submissively. "Will you need an escort?" The young lady shook her head.

"No, it's not a far walk, and I have my pets for protection." She nodded a goodbye and hesitated only to look up at Alucard, eyes narrowing. "Who are _you_ supposed to be, dressed like that?" she mused aloud. When he didn't respond, she shrugged and tugged the leash, clicking her tongue. The dog trotted forward and they were out the door and down the walk before anyone could blink.

Both Walter and Alucard watched as the girl until her form was obscured by the fence surrounding the mansion. Then the vampire turned back to the young-ish man and gained his attention once more.

"I _will_ see Seras, _now_ ," he declared. Walter glared at him before answering.

"Her Ladyship takes tea at this time," he retorted snappishly. "I will announce you, but if she turns you away…"he trailed off, his face twisting in a grimace that said he didn't like the thought of Alucard even being near his charge. "Wait here one moment," he said, before climbing the stairs again and rounding the corner.

Alucard did wait while he was gone, going over what he'd just seen in his mind. If his memory served correctly, Integra had a picture of herself dressed in that outfit as a child sitting on the bookshelf in her office. Seras would have certainly seen that picture, but where the zoo came from he did not know. And she saw Walter dressed that way during the Blitz, when he was fighting with Alucard outside of the downed zeppelin.

Was it that her subconscious remembered these things, and put them together along with her mind in this strange, topsy-turvy dreamland? Alucard couldn't decide, and finally resolved to ask Seras when he saw her, wherever she was in this mansion. He knew she was here, somewhere behind these walls, hiding amongst the paneling in some room, and he was ready to get her and return to reality.

Walter returned after a few long minutes, his face drawn in a look of submissive irritation. He glared daggers at Alucard over the white banister, but motioned for him to come up the stairs to join him.

"Her Ladyship has been gracious enough to allow you an audience," he proclaimed. "However," he added as Alucard stood beside him on the second story, "If you manage to upset her in any way, I will gladly remove you with all my power." Alucard grinned, a cruel glint in his eyes, and Walter returned the stare with a threatening one of his own before turning and pointing to the main hallway.

"Follow me." He led Alucard down the halls, stepping lightly on the long Oriental runner that cut the middle of the hallway in two. They reached what looked like a greenhouse door, the wood painted in pale white with a tiny floral design done in pink and blue around the corners. Light streamed in through the tiny opening in the top of the door, brighter than the lamps in the hallway.

Opening the door, Walter led Alucard into an enormous atrium that was abundant with greenery. It was more like an overgrown garden rather than a grand hall or sitting room. Leafy trees grew thick with knotty branches and yet were still clearly well kept. Hibiscus grew in clumps of bushes, draped with vines and creepers from all corners of the globe. The cobblestone from the front walk was repeated here in a path that wound through the jungle, separated from the growth by an ornately styled, cobalt-gray wrought iron fence.

"This way," Walter called, heading down the cobbled path. Alucard followed, looking at the multitude of flowers spread across every available space of ground. They passed walls of trellises dressed up with rose vines, the blossoms varying in every shade a rose could be. There was a small courtyard with a massive tiered fountain, glittering koi darting in the basin as fresh water cascaded down on them in sparkling streams.

Sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy, shining on the butler's polished leather and turning Alucard's coat into a dazzling array of reds as alternating light and shadow danced across its surface. Holding his arm out, he let his bare wrist linger in the warm light, but no burning sensation accompanied the light. Peering up as best he could through the foliage, he tried to discern whether the sunlight was real or fake. But no, there was the blue sky, and a hint of wispy cloud. Was it because he was in a dream world that the sun had no effect on him here?

He was led by Walter out of the forest and into what looked like a field. Tall green grass mingled with butter-coloured daffodils and rainbow bunches of wildflowers growing here and there among the thin strands. Monarchs and Emperor butterflies fluttered lazily in the air, which was stirred by a soft breeze that perfumed the air with the scent of wild lavender and herbs.

Finally, without the leaves in the way, Alucard was able to look up at the sky. He saw to his surprise that it wasn't the sky at all, but the ceiling of the vast room. It had been expertly painted in different shades of blue to mimic a bright sky. Even the clouds showed great detail, the curved undersides of the white tendrils shaded in gray against the sunlight. And the _sun_ ; a massive glowing orb painted onto the ceiling like the rest, but the lights that were held within the circle were so bright it was as if he were looking at the real thing. He squinted up at it, astounded at the vibrancy of everything in the room. The plants were real, the sky looked real, and even the breeze seemed to be a true thing, as if they were really out of doors. It was beyond the scope of any mere garden; it was a botanical masterpiece.

On the crest of the hill there was a round table, draped in a white tablecloth and set for tea with silver platters. Two wicker chairs sat on either side of the table, but only one was occupied. Walter led him up to the table and nodded him forward, staying quietly out of the way as some sort of bodyguard. The figure at the table looked at them both and shook her head.

"You may leave, Walter. I'll call you if you're needed," it said. Alucard stepped forward, lost in a very uncharacteristic sense of wonder. The person at the table was Seras, it _had_ to be Seras, and yet…. "Sit down, if you please," she said, motioning to the other chair.

The girl in the seat looked to be ten years old at the most. Her hair was short and all over the place, just like the real Seras' hair was. Her eyes shone as blue as the painted sky above them, her skin the healthy glow of a young girl and not the pale skin of the vampiress that lay in a hospital bed somewhere. She wore a white long-sleeved shirt with a sapphire blue pinafore that shifted into a darker ocean blue in the light whenever she moved. A crimson ribbon, about the same shade as his coat, was tied around her collar in a neat bow.

She tilted her head slightly and picked up her teacup, stirring the hot liquid with a silver spoon before taking a cautious sip. He watched her, trying to figure out what was going on. This was Seras, no doubt, but this was no vampiress with the body of a nineteen year old. Underdeveloped and still holding onto the wisps of childhood evident in her features, this was something he'd never come across before.

"Seras?" he asked, feeling unsure of himself. It was the first time in many centuries that he'd felt this way, and he wasn't sure how to take it. The girl smiled politely.

"Yes?" she replied in the same tone, eyeing him with unabashed curiosity. "What can I help you with?"

"Do you not know who I am? Have you not figured it out already?" he asked, more gruffly than he meant to. She appeared startled, her eyes widening and mouth making a small "O" before relaxing back into a neutral expression. She shook her head regretfully.

"I have no earthly idea who you are," she admitted. "My butler said you wanted to speak with me, so…." She finished with a bright smile, motioning with her tiny hand to the table layout. "Here we are!"

"I'm here to bring you home," he elaborated impatiently. Her expression became puzzled.

"Home?" she asked. "You must be mistaken. I _am_ home." Alucard shook his head, but she corrected him before he could say anything else. "This house is my home!" she insisted. "I live here with Mama and Papa."

"You have no family," he said roughly. "You're orphaned."

"Don't say that." Her eyes darkened and her smile faltered.

"It's the truth," he replied. "Your family is long gone." She stood up in her chair, towering over him, and stomped her foot. He saw beneath her pinafore she wore a stark gray petticoat and white tights.

"Don't _say that_!" she shouted, her hands balled into fists. "My parents are alive! Don't lie!"

"To say they're alive _is_ a lie," he growled, standing as well. His shadows lurched with irritation. "You are not a child; you're a grown woman. It's time to give up this charade." She drew back, her lower lip quivering as she glanced fearfully at the shadows, but she didn't run away.

"I'm… I'm not," she whined pitifully, tears swimming in her eyes. "I'm just a girl." He advanced around the table, his teeth grinding as the last bit of his patience flew out the window. She curled in on herself defensively as he came closer, her hands covering her face.

"I'm… I'm just…" she whimpered, looking at him from between her fingers as the tears began to spill down her cheeks. He stopped, forcing his shoulders to untense as he saw the glistening drops dripping off of her chin. "Walter…." She cried in a broken whisper, rubbing her eyes with her fists.

Although Alucard barely was able to hear her, wires surrounded him and the butler came running up from the depths of the garden, somehow tuned in to the child's tears. The mask of fury on the younger man's face didn't cow the vampire king in the slightest, but the wires did a good job of separating him from the crying girl.

"I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave now," Walter said in a no-nonsense, sarcastically cordial tone. Alucard paused for a fraction of a second, a plan forming in his mind.

"Alright," he said, bowing his head with a grin. At the same time, his shadows raced through the wires, ripping them to shreds. His hand burst through the dark shades and grabbed the child's arm. Her squeak of surprise was cut off as he made for the jungle, tugging her along as the shadows turned on the butler. He heard Walter's exclamation of anger and quickened his pace, trying to decide where to take the girl now that he had her.

She didn't impede his progress, instead running as fast as she could to keep up as he raced past the fountain, the trellises, the hibiscus and vines, to the door, past the door, and down the winding halls. He was running at vampiric speed, turning the corners at a rate that would've ripped the poor thing's arm out of her socket had she been a real human. But somehow, Seras managed to keep up, her blue eyes wide in astonishment as they ran.

They rounded the last corner and he threw open the door. However, instead of the gleaming hall he saw a library. Floor to ceiling shelves were stacked with books, and a fire crackled merrily in the grate. The mantle and walls that weren't covered in books were decorated in a fairytale theme, from the elfin candelabras all the way down to the molding on the lower casing of the fireplace.

Befuddled, he let Seras' arm go and turned around, looking back down the hall. He was certain he'd counted the turns they'd made right. Was this some sort of trick house? He snarled in frustration, running a hand through his hair. He didn't have time for these games!

Even though she was now free, the preteen girl didn't run away. Instead she looked up at Alucard with the same curious glance as before, blinking solemnly as he paced the room. She shut the door to the library and went to sit in one of the upholstered chairs, crossing her ankles and holding her hands in her lap. Only her eyes moved to watch him as he moved about the room, her cheeks beginning to glow rosily from the heat of the flames.

"Are you a knight?" she asked after a long silence, punctuated only by the swishing of his coat and the infrequent rustle of pages being turned by the wind from his shadows as he passed. He stopped at the sound of her voice, turning to stare at her uncomprehendingly from his spot across the room.

"Do I _look_ like a knight?" he spat at length, his eyes flashing angrily. She wasn't cowed by the sight, instead tilting her head as she looked him over. After scrutinizing him, she shook her head.

"You don't," she admitted. "But your eyes can't be trusted," she added in a scholarly tone. "All they do is lie to you."

"I told you that," he said quietly. His eyes narrowed and he crossed the room quickly, kneeling down at the side of the chair. He looked deeply into her eyes, searching for something that told him she knew what was going on. She returned his gaze steadily, but he could find nothing but innocence in her eyes. "Do you really recall nothing?" he asked in a forceful tone.

She continued to stare into his eyes, her own becoming more and more contemplating as the seconds ticked by. A small smile curved the corners of her mouth, and he felt as though she were seeing something he couldn't. He felt exposed, suddenly, but didn't dare break eye contact with her. Something passed between them, deep and unknown. He wasn't sure if he liked it.

"Are you sure you're not a knight?" she asked instead of answering his question. "Because I think I'm waiting for a knight. I dream about him sometimes."

"Do I really fit the picture of a knight in shining armor?" he sneered. She shook her head gravely, looking away with a frown. She bit her lip, seemingly exasperated over something, before her eyes flitted to his again.

"No, it's…" she paused, uncertain. "His armor isn't shining," she said softly. "It's silver, but it's not shiny _at all_. And he's got a cloak as black as the night." She seemed to make up her mind, and then nodded to herself before hopping out of the chair. "Can I show you something?" she asked, holding out her hand, all fear long forgotten.

He wasn't sure what she wanted him to give her, but he nodded. She stood there a moment more before huffing and grabbing his hand in her own tiny one, lacing their fingers together. He moved to pull back, but she was already walking and half-dragged him along, somehow much stronger than she seemed. He conceded to let her take him where she wanted.

She led him out the door, looking down both sides of the hallway before tugging him to the right and moving at a leisurely place through the mansion. They went up a flight of stairs and down endlessly repeating hallways, the wallpaper and carpeting the same in each. Finally she stopped before a door and opened it, leading him into a gallery. She led him past the statues and alabaster busts, towards a room separated by another archway.

In the second room were paintings of all kinds. She led him to one and stopped before it, looking up at it.

"There," she said quietly, pointing at the picture and tapping the bottom of the protective frame with her fingernail. Her other hand tightened on his, squeezing his fingers. He looked up at the painting, a small-scale replica of a larger masterpiece.

It was a dark painting, set at nighttime. On the left was a convoy of tents, and the background was set ablaze with flames. In the foreground, men on horseback fought with Kilij while others had spears and armor. Horses plunged in fright, the men lying dead or dying in every corner of the painting. The detail was so great that he could almost hear the sounds of men shouting in different languages and of terrified neighing; he could smell the acrid smoke and stench of death.

"It's a war," he said musingly, a savage grin curving at the edges of his lips. "Tell me, child: why do you show me this?"

"My knight was here," was her answer. He looked down at her.

"In this room?" She shook her head and motioned again to the painting.

"No, in there. In the war. I just know, somehow." He looked again, more closely this time. After a moment he caught her attention once more.

"What is this painting supposed to depict?" he asked. Something about it seemed a bit familiar, as if he'd seen it in a museum before. Perhaps he'd taken note of it someplace, on a mission or being a bodyguard to his master. The child smiled.

"I know the answer," she said proudly. "My papa told me all about it when I asked. It's the only painting I ever cared to learn anything about, although I didn't tell Papa that I wanted to know because my knight was in the picture. It might make him wonder," she said absently.

"What is the name?" he asked again.

"It's called The Battle with Torches," she said informatively. "It's a rendition of an ancient battle. The Night Attack of…" she wrinkled her nose. "I can't say it right. It's a weird word. Targoviste, or something like that."

"Târgovişte," he corrected. Suddenly, he _could_ feel the detail in the picture. It wasn't depicted the way it had truly happened, but it looked close. Seras nodded.

"Those blokes with the bent swords are the Turkeys," she continued, pointing to the Ottomans. "And these other men, the ones dressed up like knights, are the Wa—the Wall—" She huffed again. "I can't say their names either. Papa says the man who was leading them was outnumbered, but he was a brilliant man and he managed to hold them off for a bit. And then, when the Turkeys came to take the capital city, what they found was so frightening that they all turned back and went home, even though the other army wasn't even in the city anymore."

"And what did they find, that was so frightening?" he asked. He couldn't take his eyes of the picture, for some reason. The shouts echoed in his mind, although those men were long gone by now. He made sure to kill every last one of them, or at least show them what for.

"He wouldn't say," Seras pouted. "He said it might give me nightmares."

"It might," Alucard agreed quietly.

"I'd like to meet a man like that," Seras said with all the innocent conviction a child could possess. "Someone who could scare an entire army without even being there, I meant. I bet he would be a very interesting person. He could beat _anybody_ that way, if he did it the way he did those other ones."

"I hate to spoil the story, but he lost in the end."

"Hmm?" Seras looked up at him again. "Who?"

"The _brilliant_ leader, as you said. He loses. That's how the story ends."

"How?"

"His own people turned against him, at the last of it all." Her little hand tightened around his again, and her expression became one of righteous anger.

"That wasn't very nice of them," she said indignantly. He couldn't help but wonder at her solid sense of justice.

"That's war, my dear," he said, his savage grin returning. "Betrayal is just one of the downsides of being a tyrant in a war-torn country."

"Tyrant?" she repeated, her brow furrowing. "Isn't that a bad guy?"

"That depends on whose side you're on," he replied cryptically. She aahed and rocked on her heels for a moment, digesting his words.

"All the same," she finally deduced, "He might not have been so bad. As long as you stayed out of his way, I bet he was perfectly fine. I'm sad that he lost, in any case. Did they kill him?"

"They tried," he admitted. She wrinkled her nose again.

"What do you mean, "they tried"? Either you kill somebody or you don't. There's no in-between," she proclaimed.

"Isn't there?" he asked her. She stared wide-eyed at him and he bared his fangs. Her smile faltered and she sniffed, wiggling her fingers in his grip.

"Are you gonna eat me or something?" she asked boldly.

"I might," he said teasingly. "If you get in my way." She laughed at that, missing the serious undertone his words had.

"You're weird," she declared. "But I like you. C'mon," she said, jerking his arm in the direction of the door. "Let's run away together. Walter will be so mad, but it'll be fun!"

"Seras," he began, but already he found his feet moving of their own accord as they headed back through the archway and past the sculptures once more. "It's time to wake up," he said firmly.

"I can't," she said just as firmly. "I'm already awake. I can't wake up again." She was tugging hard at him, her Mary-Janes digging and sliding on the tile as she forced her way forward. "I bet I have a better chance of my knight jumping out of that picture as I do of finding some way of waking up while I'm already awake."

"You're _not_ awake," he growled, impatience bubbling up again. "Now listen to me—" Before he could finish his sentence, she flung open the gallery door and the entire world seemed to lurch backwards. Her hand slipped from his and he saw her turn around, her expression one of surprise.

"Hey!" she called, but the world swirled into darkness and he felt as if he couldn't breathe. It didn't bother him, since he didn't _need_ to breathe, but it did cause a momentary confusion and he jerked back, hearing a loud, prolonged mechanical alarm.

"Hey! The brain's flat lining!" He was pushed aside and his vision swirled back slowly, showing green-clad doctors rushing around a hospital bed.

"Alucard? Alucard! What's going on? Did you do something?!" That was his master, shouting in his ear with all her usual shrillness. He blinked unsteadily at her, the world still rocking on its axis as the bed was jostled and the alarm turned back into rhythmic beeping.

"What did we do?" one doctor asked, and the elderly doctor from before shook his head and shrugged.

"Beats me," he answered. "But hey, she's stable again so let's count our blessings." They all stood around watching the monitor before slowly filing out again. Integra shook Alucard's shoulders, still asking an endless stream of questions in his ear.

"I saw something," he said finally, and she shut her mouth faster than he'd ever seen her do it before. "But she threw me out, somehow."

"What was it? Was she alright? What did you see?" He shook his head and she shoved at his shoulders again. "Answer me!"

"I saw Seras," he muttered, still feeling dizzy even though the world had tilted back and was almost finished shaking. "She seemed fine; not the same, but still fine." She opened her mouth and he shook his head. "You'd just have to see for yourself. I can't explain that."

"Well, can you go in there and try again?"

"She was unwilling to listen to me—"

"Well _make her listen_ , for God's sake! You're the No-Life King, do something!" she roared angrily, forgetting to keep her voice in check.

"As you wish." He grit his teeth in order to keep from yelling in return. He never liked losing his temper around the Hellsings. They just used it against him. It was better to keep a neutral expression and act as if nothing in the world bothered you.

She nodded and turned to leave, pausing by the door only to say "Standing orders remain". He turned back to the prone form and leaned forward again.

Time for Round 2.

* * *

 


	2. Round 2

Ah, _this_ castle was more suited for a queen of the night.

Alucard looked around the expansive foyer, which was virtually like the previous one in terms of structure. But it differed where it mattered most, in the design of the place. Standing in the massive threshold, he peered in at the candlelit front room curiously, his eyes easily soaking up enough of the dim, flickering light to see perfectly well. He hadn’t been outside to begin with, this time; instead, the room had formed itself in front of him, as if offering him an open door out of some sort of courtesy as he pushed his mind into hers once more.

All the whitewashed furnishings, once so pretty and pure, were now of the darkest mahogany. The room’s paneling was of the same, with crimson accents that patterned up towards the vaulted ceiling. The columns that held the arched thresholds were emblazoned with ravens and lilies, the birds’ beady eyes seeming to stare at him coldly, despite being nothing more than wooden carvings. The marbled floors were black with red veins running the length of the room, disappearing beneath thick Oriental rugs in varying shades. Two candelabra lit the darkened staircase, casting shadow into the alcoves on either side and adding an even eerier air to the room. On the landing that connected the upper staircase to the lower, there was a large portrait that hung from carpet to ceiling. It ought to have been gaudy and ridiculous, but the more he stared at it, the more he found that he rather preferred it.

It was supposed to be of Seras, undoubtedly. But something was different here. It was her likeness, but it wasn’t _her_. The young figure in the portrait blossomed with life, from the rosy cheeks with their heightened hues to the vibrant sparkle in the sapphire gaze. The same eyes stared right through him, a mischievous inner light glimmering in stark contrast to the innocent curve of her pink lips. A white gown hung from her shoulders, a translucent medieval veil offering mere glimpses of blonde hair while roses bloomed up a trellis in the background. It was not too dark to read the words printed on a plaque, set into the bottom frame of the portrait. _Effigiem in Castitate._

 _Purity indeed,_ he thought with a bitter sneer. _What a joke_. Looking around again, he decided that no Walter would surprise him this time. Unlike with the last foray, he had an almost innate sense of where he could find her, without having to go through the labyrinth of archways and shadowy entrances that littered the castle. It was as though it was his duty—his fate, rather—to find her. Sneering again at the thought, he stepped forward into the foyer and was slightly startled by a loud clank as metal settled into place. He froze, looking down with the realization that he was the one that had made the noise, and had startled himself. He saw his blurred reflection in a polished breastplate, raised one hand and stared in puzzlement at the intricate greaves that covered his hands instead of gloves.

            _Armor?_ He frowned, twisting from side to side to see that yes, he was in a full suit of armor. _His_ suit, by the looks of it. Where had she seen— _ah, yes, the Major_. He had almost forgotten the little details of that… skirmish. It hadn’t quite been the war he’d wanted, but it had been a fun little escapade for those little boys playacting at villains. At least the Major had some sense, if it could be called that; although, from what Integra had told him, it had only taken a few measly bullets to send _him_ to Hell also. Just as well—they simply didn’t make wars the way they used to.  He shifted and the armor clinked together, bringing more nearly forgotten memories to the forefront of his mind; memories of his human years, wrought with pain and battles that painted the landscape with gore. _True_ warfare.

            He reached down with a rusty, yet once-upon-a-time habitual movement to feel his trusted sword at his side. It had been forged for him, and had been his longtime companion through the thick and thin of battles that mankind had long since forgotten the names of. His cloak was also with him, draped over his shoulders and pooling at his feet. It was reminiscent of shadows, the dye was so dark. _A cloak of night_ , a childlike voice whispered to him, borne on the air itself. He scowled as he adjusted it across his shoulders, shaking his head. His former servant had an odd subconscious, _that_ much was for certain.

            He climbed the staircase, the light from the candles reflecting from his armor and making unsettling patterns that danced up the wall as he moved. Passing through the first threshold, he found himself in a long, dark hallway that stretched towards a pinprick of light in the distance. Stepping forward cautiously, using his boots to feel for any sudden dips or drops in the marble floor, he made his way towards the light, watching as it grew brighter. Soon enough he passed through another archway, blinking rapidly as the sudden change from darkness to light irritated his eyes.

            When he could see well again, he looked around to find himself in an antechamber of a cathedral. At least, that’s what the room resembled. Rushlights burned brightly in sconces on the wall, reflected on all sides by mirrors and golden paint until the entire room seemed to _thrum_ with it. More light seemed to shine from above by some natural means, and he looked up to see if he could spy a skylight, or even a window put into the wall somewhere above. He could only see the ceiling, but rather than being a plain, unassuming color as the foyer’s ceiling had been, he saw instead a fresco of Heaven rivaling that of Da Vinci.

            Six-winged Seraphim hid their faces from the golden throne that was painted above the center of the room. Clouds and the lesser angels flanked the corners, the souls of the righteous gathered before the foot of the Divine in preparation for Judgement. The light seemed to emanate from the throne itself, shining down into all corners. He wrinkled his nose at it, not caring much for the sight. Plump-cheeked cherubim weren’t his strong suit. But he could appreciate the detail, if not the description. It seemed as though he could reach up and run his hands through the lifelike clouds, or touch the wing-covered feet of the nearest Seraph.  It truly seemed that he was staring up past the pearly gates themselves. _Disgusting_ , he thought with a quiet sigh as he stepped forward.

            He felt the belt holding his sword to his side slide along his hip, and looked down with the intent of tightening the strap. He jumped back with shock, an odd feeling in his chest that made him think of the old human adage of hearts that skipped a beat. He wasn’t frightened, only more surprised at something he hadn’t expected to see, _especially_ something as hideously ugly as what he was now staring at. A gaping maw, sneering, its teeth painted with blood and its inhumane features splattered with some sort of sticky bodily fluids, seemingly ready to capture his left boot in its snakelike, unhinged jaw.

            If the ceiling was meant to be Heaven, than the floor was surely Hell. As grotesque as the former was angelic, he couldn’t help but feel that even if he’d stared at it for a year and a day, he still wouldn’t be able to see every detail. It was rather… imaginative. Demons abounded, mouths open and fangs ready to sink into all too unwilling flesh; their bodies were varied round or thin, spiked limbs or gangly sticks, wings or claws, humanoid or something climbed from the darkest pits of nightmares. They coated the floor like a plague, surrounding the souls of the damned and torturing them in various ways. The lost souls writhed, mouths opened in silent screams as their eyes pleaded with him, haunting and sunken into their sockets. It was unnerving for the image of a painting… and it _was_ only a painting.

            Reminding himself of the fact, he raised his chin arrogantly and strode boldly forward into the throng of the fiery lake, crushing demons beneath his boots as he calmly walked through the room. He had the air of Satan himself taking a leisurely stroll rather than a man stepping on the faces of eternal torment. _I had no clue the Police Girl had such religious imagery in her_ , he thought to himself as he moved through the room effortlessly. A part of him remembered her saying something about an orphanage, some religious state-funded institution that she’d been booted from when she was sixteen, straight into the police academy. Perhaps it had been forced into her, whether she believed it or not. After all, this _was_ her unconsciousness.

            He stepped beyond the religious antechamber and into darkness once more, or at least a darker room than the rushlights had provided. This room was smaller than the antechamber, yet still larger than the foyer. He had a sense of being up high in the air, though he had only climbed one set of stairs. Perhaps it was more of the dream-world logic. There were no candles here, only the light that streamed from three stained glass windows that took up the entirety of the opposite wall. Through the patterned glass he could only see mist, with no sense of landscape to tell him how high he might have actually been.          

            The three windows were beautifully crafted, each separate and reaching so high that he had to crane his head to look at them. The leftmost one was a picture he’d seen replicated before in illuminated manuscripts and books of hours, with ancient humans toiling the earth with blank faces outside of a farmstead. The rightmost window showed the same people now in a church, hands raised to the heavens as their emotionless faces still somehow lamented one of their kind laid in a box, hands crossed over his chest. Above, the righteous dignity of the stained glass God sat in the clouds, looking down upon the scene.

            The middle window caught his interest more than its siblings. It was darker than the other too, clouded by mist of its own in the form of pale window pieces. A full moon hung near the ceiling, a man and woman holding hands near the floor. Their smiles were as empty as their neighbors, but their eyes shone with tiny ruby pinpricks of light from the pale flesh. The man’s shadow was a canine shape, the woman’s a feline. Instead of doves and clouds, bats and owls peered from stained glass near the rafters. It was clear that this was a depiction of Nosferatu, however elementary it was. The left was Life, right Death, and the center held the generalization of Midians. Painted into each glass was one word, together reading _Requiescat in Pace._

            Beneath the three windows, on a raised stone altar, he found the woman he’d been searching for. She was laid out like the dead, minus the pine box and mourners. She still wore the white gown, the folds of her sleeves melting into the body as her arms lay crossed over her chest. From where he stood, the altar seemed to be overflowing with flowers of all types. He stepped closer warily, eyeing her from head to toe as he tried to decide what the matter was.

            There were roses near her feet, a crown of wildflowers on her brow, a bouquet of carnations pressed into her bosom by the crossed hands, lilies and violets intertwined in a blanket beneath her body. Her pallid skin seemed even more colorless against the gray stone of the altar and the bright pastels of the floral arrangements. He knelt down, watching the unmoving fringe of blonde lashes that lay delicately against the rise of her cheek, which lacked the color that he’d seen in the picture downstairs.  She wasn’t breathing, her pulse still, her face an expression of peaceful sleep. She seemed, for all intents and purposes, the very image of a fresh corpse.

            “Police Girl,” he called sternly, his voice echoing in the otherwise empty chamber as he shook her shoulder. Normally that would have been enough to rouse her from sleep, but she remained dead to the world—literally. The movement upset a few of the wildflowers and they fell to the floor, slipping off the altar with a quiet sound. Before they reached the ground, they shriveled and dissipated into withered dust. In a spasm of curiosity, he knocked a few roses off the other end with his hand; the minute the altar hid their petals from the light of the windows, they browned and were crumbled ash by the time they met the floor. _Nothing can flourish in the shadow of death_ , a voice spoke in his mind. He tried to remember the source of the voice, but the name and face escaped him. He felt that he had been told that long ago, ages before he’d ever met the maiden on the altar before him.

            “Seras Victoria?” He tried her name, to see if it might strike enough of a chord to wake her. Still she slept on, unheeding to his call. He felt impatience bubble within him, as it had many nights when he’d found her this way in her coffin, unable to be roused by usual methods. Never before had he known a girl to sleep so soundly, and a vampire at that. It wasn’t good instinct—if one didn’t awaken when allies came to call, what would happen when the enemy arrived? He supposed that between the two of them, he was a light sleeper. Even if she wasn’t his Childe anymore, he still felt enough regard for her to watch out for her, the little idiot.

            _Resilient, clumsy, annoying, impenitent, precious little idiot_ ….  He removed one gauntlet, staring for a long moment at his bare hand beneath the shifting colors of the stained glass. It wasn’t often that he noticed his own body, only for the fact that he no longer cared about his appearance. He had taken so many forms over his existence, what did it matter? He chose this natural body because it was easiest to maintain, and the most comfortable for him. He reached down, his fingers brushing over one wan cheek. _Seras_ ….

His hand jerked back, a thrill running through him as though he’d forced his fingers into an open flame. Her skin was ice! Of course, to humans and other creatures, she was already as cold as the grave. But to him, and to other vampires, the soft expanse of her skin was—should have been—warm and inviting. His hand grasped one of hers to confirm what he feared; her skin, normally about the same temperature as his own, now sent a shiver up his arm. This was no sleeping state, as he’d originally thought. She was truly dead! He stumbled backwards, panic and confusion warring for dominance in his mind until he forced himself to stop and think rationally. He had to remain calm, if he were to wake her up.

He crept back to the altar, kneeling as though intending to pray. His nose came within inches of her face and he rested his elbow on the cold, unfeeling stone as he tried to think of the proper next move. He had only thought her sleeping, like the (entirely untrue) story of the damned princess from Thorne Castle. In modern times, her state would have been called comatose, though ‘enchanted sleep’ had been much more accepted for a princess back then, rather than admitting an assassination attempt that had nearly went right. But she was dead, like the other fairytale maiden, the one in the glass casket. How did that one end?

He wracked his mind, trying to remember. He hadn’t heard many of those stories since they were brand new, whispered as true tales around palace hearths and giggled about by servants at the town wells. Hadn’t her sisters cut off their own toes? No, that wasn’t right—that was the story of the penniless waif that slept amongst the embers. Perhaps she’d been cooked? No, that had been the child that was reborn as a sparrow. Damn it to hell, what was the answer? Kissing her at night? _That’s Cupid and Psyche, you imbecile!_ his mind raged. A spark of memory had him sitting up. Wait, that was it! The kiss to break the spell and wake the girl! Why hadn’t he thought of it before? Most of those asinine stories ended that way, with a kiss of ‘true love’. Idiotic mortals, as if _that_ alone was enough to break a curse. The best that could happen was that the Devil laughed so hard that he forgot to ferry one’s soul away as well for merely suggesting it.

 _Damned Police Girl and her romantic notions_ , he grumbled inwardly, but nothing more than a put-upon sigh escaped his lips. He looked askance at the prone figure, fingers tapping out an unhurried rhythm on the altar. It wasn’t as though he had never thought about kissing the girl before; he’d considered it more times than he was comfortable with, though he’d never acted on it. On most nights, he was far to occupied to even _think_ about her, much less wonder what she might taste like. And besides, she was far too much trouble as it was to even consider making her his lover. She already nagged him and forced him to feel emotions that he had never cared for, and if they were intimate it would only get worse. He wasn’t _completely_ self-degrading, to submit to something like that.

              Still, what other option did he have? He couldn’t leave until she woke. Steeling himself for what was sure to be a barrage of anger for being kissed while unconscious—she was such a feisty thing, despite her small build—he pressed his lips to hers. Trying to ignore the lifeless chill of the flesh beneath him, he waited one second, two, three… nothing. Not even a stir. _Of course not; she’s dead_. He frowned and rubbed his chin with his bare hand, startled at the stubble he found growing there. He hadn’t had a beard for quite some time; a few centuries, at least. She’d seen him with one when she’d seen his armor, though, hadn’t she? He pushed the errant thought to the back of his mind, trying to focus on the problem at hand. Another voice from ages past called out to him, offering aid to his dilemma. _The master’s kiss…._

            He looked up at the middle stained glass window, his mind flooded with comprehension. Of course! But… he looked back at her, age old intuition beating at his mind. It was against the nature of the undead to drink from a corpse, blood already poisoned with death. Bad blood had killed off more vampires than he cared to remember, and everyone knew that the blood was the life, only if the blood _had_ life. Otherwise, it was no better than drinking tainted water. _But_ , his mind argued as he stared down at her, _she’s not **really** dead, is she? _This was only a strange, otherworldly dream that she’d conjured up in the depths of her own psyche.

            Scattering flowers left and right, he gathered her lifeless corpse in his arms and held her close. He paid no attention to the wilting deaths of the blooms, his eyes locked firmly on her face as he relished the familiar feel of her slight body lying so pliantly in his grasp. Of course, she’d been dying at the time, blood pumping slower and slower from the gaping wound he’d made in her. But it still felt the same. He brushed the pale locks from her neck, shaking back his own tangled hair with a sense of determination. Then, ignoring all his instinctive desires to stay away, that this was _not_ the right thing to do, that she was dead and gone: he sank his teeth into her bared, flawless neck.

            Her blood was warm where her skin was cold, flooding over his tongue and down his throat profusely despite no heartbeat urging it on. He immediately wanted more, the heady taste of it spurring him on. Drinking deeply, he shuddered and held her closer; the taste was familiar, but enhanced with a vampiric flavor that acted almost as an aphrodisiac. He was certain that, had she been a stranger he cared nothing for, it would have been nothing to drain her dry and enjoy every drop of something so utterly _delicious_ that he had no name for it. But he felt her stir, finally, and he reluctantly pulled away from her throat, licking over the blood that beaded from his bite and removing it. His mark faded away into nothing as he watched, the marred skin smoothing and leaving nothing but a redness that faded away into pale ivory once more.

            He put his hand to her cheek again, satisfied that her skin was rapidly warming despite the bloodletting. He placed her back on the altar and took the time to pull the gauntlet back over his fingers, wiping his mouth once for good measure before watching her awaken. She moaned drowsily, the sound music to his ears, and her hands moved up to rub at her eyes. They opened, rightfully scarlet instead of blue, and looked around at the windows before turning towards him. He stared back quietly, waiting for her to speak.

            “Alucard,” she greeted in her usual tone, looking around again before sitting up. The bouquet, which had fallen to her waist when he’d taken her in his arms, slipped to the floor and became a dried husk of broken petals. “Where the hell are we?” she asked him, one hand on her forehead. She looked at him again, more closely. “You’ve got your mustache back,” she added in a different voice altogether, more appreciatively.

            “You know who I am?” he asked, pointing to himself as he stood. She snorted derisively, swinging her legs over the side of the alter and standing, albeit wobbly for a moment before finding her balance.

            “You’re a pain in my arse,” she joked, fluffing out her hair and upsetting the crown of flowers. “If I have to put up with you as much as I do, I ought to know who you are, at least.” She looked again around the dark chambers, one slender finger rising to her lips in a nervous habit. “How pretty,” she managed to say before she clamped down on the digit, front teeth worrying the skin. “So where are we, anyway?” she asked again, voiced muffled.

            “We’re in your mind,” he responded gruffly. That caught her attention and she looked back at him warily, moving from her index finger to bite down on the pad of her thumb as she thought over his explanation.

            “Oh,” she finally said, seemingly accepting this bizarre answer with the same logical absurdity that one accepts all dreams with.

            “I told you that letting those quacks experiment on you was going to end badly,” he griped, not losing a prime moment for the tried and true ‘I was right and you were wrong’ scolding. She ignored this with her usual calm flippancy, instead allowing one searching hand to roam across the expanse of his cloak, fingering the weatherworn fabric.

            “How can I be in my mind?” she finally asked him, still staring down at the cloak. Her brow furrowed and he half-expected to see steam come pouring from her ears at any moment. “I’m _here_. How can I be here, and still be inside my own mind? Isn’t my mind the part of me that’s supposed to be ‘me’?” she continued in bewilderment. “Or am I a soul inside my mind? And what are you? Are you your mind? How can I be in my mind and think at the same time? Does my mind have a mind?” He stared at her and she paled, the remaining color draining from her cheeks. “I think I just confused myself.”

            “It’s _your_ head, Police Girl. Figure it out,” he sneered as he turned away. It wasn’t his fault if the truth caused her to have an existential crisis. She was already starting to annoy him, and she’d only been awake all of five minutes. He looked back to see her giving him one of her signature glares, arms crossed.

            “You didn’t have to come get me, you know,” she huffed. “If you’re just going to be rude the entire time.”

            “I was under orders,” he explained. A hurt expression crossed her face and she looked away, rubbing one arm.

            “So you wouldn’t have come for me if Sir Integra hadn’t bothered you about it?” 

            “You’re the one who just said that I needn’t have come for you,” he pointed out irritably. She turned her eyes to the ground, the corners of her lips falling. When it became clear that she wasn’t going to reply, he bit back a sigh and motioned to the room. “So, Police Girl, where’s the exit to your mind?” She glanced back up at him, eyes widening in confusion before pressing a palm to her cheek.

            “The same way you came in, I guess,” she answered hesitantly, biting her lip.

            “Very well then. Come along; I came in by the front door.” She made to follow him, tripping once on her own skirts before gathering them up in her hands, nose wrinkling.

            “I hate long dresses,” she muttered as she adjusted herself before clearing a path for her bare feet. When she was ready, he jerked his head in the direction of the door. Nodding, she followed at his heels until they passed through the threshold. She took one look at the floor and let out such a shriek of terror that he was surprised the mirrors on the walls didn’t shatter from its force. He turned back to see her clinging to the threshold as though afraid to fall into the floor itself. He scowled at her; perhaps the figures looked realistic and the floor looked like the depths of hell stretched beneath his feet, but they were only pictures painted into the ground.

            “Come along,” he repeated, waving his hand at her. She tentatively put one foot out over what looked like a long drop into a dark chasm and felt at the ground, but ultimately shook her head.

            “Carry me,” she begged him, stretching out one arm to him with a frightened glitter in her eyes.  

            “You’ll walk or I’ll be damned!” he snarled. She glanced again at the hellish scene and then managed to snag his elbow with her questing fingers. Before he knew it she was pressed against him, arms tight enough around his to bend the metal of the armor and her eyes screwed shut. Her cheek pressed against his shoulder and he could feel her quivering form even through the metal. He tried to jerk it away, taking a few measured steps, but she followed doggedly without peeking to see where he was leading her. He rolled his eyes, but led her through the room as though he were leading a blind man.

            “Open your eyes, you little coward. We’re on the other side,” he barked when they passed into the darkened hallway. She obediently opened them and, when faced with a gaping darkness before her, continued to cling to his arm as though he were the only thing between her and her death. He tried again to shake her off, but she held on with such persistence that his arm grew tired before he could get her fingers to budge.

            “Are you _sure_ that this is my mind?” she squeaked in alarm, finally unclasping one hand and stretching it before her. It vanished into the shadow and she yanked it back to her chest and stepped even closer to him. He looked down to see that only centimeters separated her from standing on his boots.

            “Quite sure,” he drawled sarcastically before tugging her along beside him as he began to traverse the darkness. “How cowardly you are, Police Girl,” he complained as he walked. “I came through this earlier on my own, you know.”

            “So? You’ve always been braver than I am,” she replied shamelessly. He heard a rustle of cloth as she gathered her skirts again in order to match his pace. They were nearing the other side of the dark hall, and she oohed appreciatively when they stepped onto the upper landing. She let go of his arm and ran to the banister, leaning over it to look down at the foyer. “How beautiful!” she breathed in exaltation. “I’d love to live in a place like this!”

            “Perhaps someday, when you have your own home, it can look like this.” He stepped over to stand beside her. She looked up at him with a laugh.

            “I don’t have any kind of money,” she said with a shake of her head. “I couldn’t afford this.” He smirked, but didn’t say anything. Just by knowing him personally, she was already one of the richest people in the world. He had wealth spread throughout every country on earth; it would be nothing to drop gold on a castle that met her every desire. And one day he would, when Hellsing was nothing more than a memory in a few elderly humans’ minds. Knowing her, she’d probably complain that he was spending way too much on her, but in the end she’d secretly enjoy it.

            “And what of this?” He pointed to her large portrait. Spinning around, she stared at it in awe for a few moments before tilting her head appraisingly.

            “Do you think Sir Integra would let me sit for a painting?” she asked him conversationally, walking over and brushing her fingers along the edge of the frame. “They’re far more elegant than a photo. Or I think so, anyway.”

            “She might.” She continued to prattle on about paintings and portraits in museums that she’d seen once upon a time or another, but he only half listened to her. A part of him wanted, as always, to tell her to shut up and stop wasting unnecessary breath. But another part of him let her keep talking, if only for the fact that only a few moments ago, he was afraid that he’d never get her up and talking again. Perhaps he’d been more concerned about her condition than he’d let on, even to himself….

            “Come on now, let’s go,” he ordered, cutting her off midsentence. “It’s high time we get back to the real world, if only so that my master will stop worrying herself into anemia over you.”

            “Right!” she conceded with her usual cheerfulness, bouncing ahead of him to the oaken door, which had somehow been shut during his journey. He followed and was halfway across the room when she threw open the door. Standing on the other side was a dark-skinned figure, hunched over slightly as though suffering from stomach pains. Sensing, or hearing, the door’s removal, the figure looked up to show an expressionless face with bloody, empty eye sockets. He recognized the clothing of an Ottoman warrior, his hand jumping immediately to his sword as he realized it would be futile. There was too much space between him and Seras for him to protect her before the lost soul would be able to grab her. Thankfully, her reflexes were still working well enough, and she slammed the door in the man’s face as he raised his curved sword.

            She turned and pressed her back against the door, fingers splayed in some effort to keep the man from breaking down the heavy door. She opened her mouth to say something to him, but a loud scream escaped when the blade crashed through the wood only a few millimeters away from her skull. Ducking down, she scrambled across the Oriental rugs as the door fell open, the hinges giving way and crashing to the ground; she escaped the heavy door with only seconds to spare, the hem of her dress catching and sending her face-first into the tile. Picking herself back up with a groan, she tenderly prodded her nose before the sound of a horse shaking its head caught her attention and she looked behind her to see that the Ottoman had been joined by a few… friends.

           “Those aren’t mine,” she quipped fearfully, backing away to put himself between her and the bloodied army. “Why are they in my head?” She looked near to fainting, her legs jellied and trembling visibly beneath the gown. He felt his heart lurch in his chest as he unsheathed his weapon. Before, he’d had an entire army at his back when facing these fiends. Now, he had an eternal nineteen year old vampiress with a dress.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered, pushing her further back into the castle as he shook the cloak from his shoulders. “They’re nothing,” he announced with a bravado that was hard to feel. The army stirred as they heard his voice, growling beneath their breath and leering at him with their own weapons aloft. “I put a blade through every one of your hearts five hundred years ago,” he snarled, his voice roughening in anger. “I’ll gladly do it again; come at me, you cowards!”

The army surged forward at his call, bottlenecking in the doorway before spreading out around the foyer and coming for him as a wave. Seras shouted incoherently after him, but he ignored her as he ran to meet them, prepared to fight. He caught three bodies in an upswing, using their mass against them as he twisted and threw them into two more. He sliced blindly, relying on instinct as blood splattered against the walls and soaked the luxurious carpeting. The air became thick with the stench of war, filling his nose and bringing back countless memories.

He had no idea how long he fought against them—it could have been hours, or mere minutes. Still, as many as he felled, flopping like landed trout in their own blood, that many more surrounded him. He was slowly becoming overcome, despite how valiantly he battled. When he killed them one by one in his own mind, it was far easier than this. Here, they strategized as a real army might against him, rather than wandering aimlessly like the lost souls they were. He felt steel against his neck and turned on his heel, but the sword was already too near him to parry. He steadied himself for the blow that would kill a normal man, but the sword merely scratched his cheek. He watched in confusion as the man’s arm separated from his shoulder cleanly, flipping through the air to land at his horse’s feet.

 Shadows arced through the air in an erratic dance and then Seras was beside him, holding a commandeered ottoman sword with both hands. Her dress was more crimson than white now, sticking to her curves wetly. Her hair was dyed pink with enemy blood, dripping down one of her temples and splattered across her cheek, but she didn’t seem to notice. She ran a hand through her hair, upsetting the last of the flowers as she leaped towards her next victim with a shrill battle cry on her lips. For a moment he watched her, wondering how he had forgotten that there were shadows to command. After all, he was fighting like a mere human instead of the monster he was! A soul loomed up before him and he waved his hand, impaling the Ottoman on a shadowy spike and leaving him before running his sword through the eyeball of the next.

With his shadows on his side and Seras at his back, he found himself well equipped to handle the scourge that rushed at him. Bodies were thrown from his shadows pikes to land on the chandelier and the upper story, limbs splayed where they rested with sickening crunches. He heard her behind him rather than saw her, taking care to pull his swings in order to keep from catching her in a blow. The old rhythm of his younger years returned, bringing with it an almost mindless sensation of movement; he had no need to think about his blows, adrenaline and centuries of fighting experience working in his favor. These beings, while formidable in number, were nothing more than lost souls after all. Finally the last body fell to the sopping carpet with a squelch, leaving behind the odor of death and blood. His shadows mopped up the carnage greedily, filling him with an after-battle feast.

“Ugh,” he heard her grunt, and turned to see that she finally noticed her new coloring. Arms held out to the side, her face was a mask of disgust as she watched the bloody remnants of a thousand thousand men dripping from her sleeves. After a moment she squinted in revulsion and began the task of trying to wring out her dress the best she could. It did little to help the problem. She watched his shadows sucking up the carpet and huffed, “I wish _I_ could do that. I haven’t figured it out yet.”

 In answer, they jumped from the carpet to cover her form, wriggling and molding to her like a living cocoon as they pulled the liquid from her hair and clothing. He heard her muffled squeak of surprise, and then helpless giggling as the squirming mass tickled her in its effort to seek out every last drop of precious blood. He closed his eyes, turning away from the sight; as preternatural extensions of his body, they sent feedback on everything to him. It was helpful when fighting against enemies, but now they were cataloguing the tempting silkiness that he knew was her skin, every last bit of fluffy, soft hair on her head, every facet from the swell of her chest to every hollow of her joints. If she knew how personally he could feel such things, she would probably fight him off. The shadows pulled away reluctantly and left her clean as a freshly-bathed newborn, prompting her to let out a little gasp as she looked down at her spotless robes.

“Thank you,” she said graciously before looking at the stained blade in her hand and tossing it overhanded as hard as she could. It landed in the back of a dead horse and she recoiled in shock, wincing. “Oh, I meant for it to hit the wall….” Averting her eyes, she walked away and a moment later, he felt the cloth of his cloak fall over his shoulders. “Here,” she said needlessly, moving to his front and adjusting it so that it fell properly. “Now, where do we go from here?” she asked, pointing to the empty doorway. There was only one footpath, covered in rolling mist and leading to a grayed world beyond. “It doesn’t look like there’s anything out there but that little road.”

“Then we shall take it.”  


End file.
